


Soft and Messy Things

by Rosie447



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Awkward Conversations, Canon Typical Language/Content Matter, Character Study-ish, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Mentions of Non-Consensual Drug Use, Missing Scene, Mixed-Media Format, Sibling Bonding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-05
Updated: 2020-08-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:54:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25736131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rosie447/pseuds/Rosie447
Summary: “I don’t feel fuzzy anymore,” he said. “I just feel… not exactly like a hangover? More like withdrawal, but also kind of like that one time I got hit by a taxi and decided to get pancakes before I went to the hospital. Do you have any pancakes?”Klaus and Diego discuss withdrawal, possession, and the world's worst family reunion.
Relationships: Diego Hargreeves & Klaus Hargreeves
Comments: 22
Kudos: 230





	Soft and Messy Things

**Author's Note:**

> CW: Mentions of drug use, including non-consensual drug use 
> 
> I wrote this for my sister after we finished season 2. Klaus is her favorite and Diego is mine, and we both thought that they deserved some space to discuss their trauma.

_ “Like most kids, I supposed, my name was a birthday present. Unlike them, it was given to me not at my birth, but on my thirteenth birthday. I still remember vividly, sitting around the kitchen table with the rest of my siblings, for once a part of something. It was all of our birthday, after all. It was later than we usually ate breakfast, and the sun was filtering in through the windows; our father had granted us an extra half an hour in the morning for the occasion. My mother walked around the table and set identical boxes in front of each of us.  _

_ In each of the boxes was a framed cross stitch with a name. Each of them had a mask below their name and the symbol that one string of comic books had given them for identification. Mine had a violin. _

_ It took us a few seconds to figure out what it meant. That the names were  _ us _.  _

_ I don’t know if we realized before then how strange it was that we were all called by numbers, so much that the numbers had become almost name-like. Or if the rest of them did, they never discussed it with me. As a child, I assumed that the rest of them shared everything with each other, on the ways to and from missions, or when they’d be pulled away for training for days on end. Given how quickly they split apart, I’m now no longer sure that was the case. To be honest, in hindsight, open displays of vulnerability were met with callous disregard. Maybe the only thing they shared with each other was the comforting knowledge that, in the very least, they were better off than I was. _

_ In that moment, however, we were all on the same page, and it was a book none of us were sure how to read. The silence was palpable until it was broken, predictably, by Four. _

_ ‘Hello complete strangers,’ he said. ‘I’m Klaus.’ _ _ ” _

_ \- Vanya Hargreeves, Extra-Ordinary: My Life as Number Seven, pg. 23. _

* * *

The ride back to Elliot’s was more than a little uncomfortable, as they all individually searched for some excuse to not talk to each other until the car crunched on the gravel outside of the apartment complex, pulling to a stop. Klaus was still slumped against the window, the absence of the rumbling sensation of movement apparently not registering.

“Is he okay?” 

“I got him,” Diego said. There was an implied end to that sentence and Allison didn’t quite meet his eyes. The rest of them left without further comment. He slid out of the backseat and walked around to the other side, pulling open the door with more force than was strictly necessary. 

“Wah?” Klaus half-asked, half-yelped at the sudden absence of the window for support. Diego caught his shoulder to keep him from slipping further. 

“Jesus, man,” he dropped to a crouch, squinting in the darkness. “What the hell did you take?”

“Isn’t that the joke?” Klaus said, patting absently at his brother’s face. The movements were limp and uncontrolled, and it ended up feeling and looking a bit more like a few repeated slaps. “Nothing!” He said it brightly, but only managed to hold the expression for a couple of seconds. “Are you proud of yourself?”

“What?” Diego caught Klaus’ wrist and moved it away from his face.

“Not  _ you. _ ” Klaus was glaring absently somewhere to the right of the rickety fire escape. “ _ You  _ did this. And I have nothing to say to you.”

Diego’s eyes followed his for a moment, but there wasn’t anyone there that he could see.

“I thought you said ghosts couldn’t time travel.”

“Oh. Yeah. I may have made a  _ teensy little  _ omission there,” he squeezed two fingers together.

“Or an outright lie.”

“Yeah, well, you know. Tomatoes.” He waved a hand, smiling to himself.

“Ben?”

Klaus flicked a finger gun towards the fire escape. “In the flesh. Or not the flesh. Or  _ my  _ flesh.” He laughed again, and Diego could not help but feel like he was missing out on some kind of joke. Given it was Klaus, he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to understand.

* * *

_ [Transcript from the GOOD MORNING CHICAGO interview with THE UMBRELLA ACADEMY] _

_ INTERVIEWER: It’s clear from the way that you conduct yourselves on missions that you’re all very close. _

_ NUMBER 1: Of course we are. I think we have to be, like you said, to be efficient.  _

_ [The remaining members of THE UMBRELLA ACADEMY nod in agreement. NUMBER 4 is picking up the complimentary lollipops off of the table and hiding them in the front pocket of his jacket. It is unclear whether this is meant to be subtle or not. NUMBER 1, NUMBER 2, NUMBER 3, and NUMBER 6 are all ignoring this.] _

_ INTERVIEWER: What about when you aren’t on missions? If my relationship with my sisters is any point of reference, siblings bicker a lot. [Polite laughter from AUDIENCE. NUMBER 6 is trying to convince NUMBER 4 not to take another lollipop.] I have to ask, how does having powers change that? _

_ NUMBER 2: I-I– _

_ NUMBER 1: We really don’t bicker that much. I don’t know. What do you think, guys?  _

_ [NUMBER 2 closes his mouth and shrugs. NUMBERS 4 and 6 still appear distracted.] _

_ NUMBER 3: I think we get along pretty well. Obviously, it can be tiring when we go on missions and I’m the  _ only  _ girl. [AUDIENCE laughs sympathetically.] But I think we all really trust each other, you know? We have each other’s backs when it counts. And that’s what’s most important. Even if  _ someone  _ always takes the wrong mask. [She nudges NUMBER 6, who smiles awkwardly at the camera.] _

_ INTERVIEWER: [To NUMBERS 2 and 4] Would you agree? _

_ NUMBER 2: W-w [Pause.] We get along.  _

_ NUMBER 4: Oh yeah. [He throws an arm over NUMBER 2’s shoulders.] There isn’t anything I wouldn’t trust these guys with.  _

* * *

“You wouldn’t think it, would you?” Klaus continued lazily. “Sweet little Ben. But he’s gotten  _ possess-y. _ ”

“Possess-y?” Diego turned, sinking until he was sitting on the gravel, his back pressed against the car. “You mean at dinner, that wasn’t you? That was… Ben?”

“The one and only.” 

“Shit,” he muttered. Then, “at least you have an excuse for looking like a complete idiot.”

“Oh no. No,” the patting-smacking had returned, this time on the top of Diego’s head. “Don’t do that. Dad is Dad and he’s the  _ worst. _ ”

“He started talking and it was like I was a goddam teenager again. I c-c-c-c–” his fingers curled into fists in the gravel. “- _ couldn’t _ even–”

“Shh-shhh.” 

Diego glanced back. “I’m kind of having a moment here.”

“Not you. Keep talking about your feelings. You’re doing great.”

He turned back to the fire escape. “Is Ben still here?”

“No. He left,” Klaus’ hand dropped. “I feel fuzzy. You know like when a TV goes static?”

“I -  _ shit. Shit, _ ” Diego stood back up, turning to ease Klaus into a more appropriate sitting position. “Look at me. Am I spinning?”

Klaus shook his head. Then lurched forwards so quickly that without years of combat training and honed reflexes, his brother would very likely have needed to both change his shirt and shower. He groaned on his knees, blinking lazily as Diego pulled his hair back from his face.

“Shit, man.”

“You moved very fast.”

“Are you going to do that again?”

“No,” Klaus leaned back and wiped a hand down the side of his face. His voice was different, more grounded than it had been. “I don’t think so.”

“Good.”

“I don’t feel fuzzy anymore,” he said. “I just feel… not exactly like a hangover? More like withdrawal, but also kind of like that one time I got hit by a taxi and decided to get pancakes before I went to the hospital. Do you have any pancakes?”

“No.”

“Well,” Klaus sighed. “Maybe we could ask Elliot to make us some. Tell him it’s an alien thing. We have to drown pancakes in maple syrup or we’ll resort to… something.” He groaned. “I can move my fingers but not my arms.”

“Yeah, it’s weird like that. You’d think it would be the other way around.”

It took a moment of silence for him to realize Klaus was staring at him.

“What?”

“You almost sounded like… you were speaking from experience? Have I missed something, brother dearest? However many months in the sixties and Mr. My-Body-Is-A-Temple suddenly knows about withdrawal?” His lip quirked upwards. “Do we have something to discuss?”

“No,” Diego glanced away. “I don’t want to talk about it. It wasn’t my choice, okay?”

Klaus’ grin dropped. “Oh.” Then. “The  _ hospital. _ ”

* * *

_ Doctor’s Notes. The patient who has identified himself as Diego Hargreeves (legal confirmation of identity not provided) seems particularly wary around needles and, particularly, sedation via injection. Even the suggestion of sedation seems to trigger an emotional response (see: stuttering).  _

* * *

“I said I didn’t want to talk about it.”

The silence was incomplete, with the sputtering of cars and the faint music from the windows in the background. It was a different city than where they’d grown up, not to mention a different time, but cities were all sort of the same with closed eyes. 

“I’ve been deep before. Scary deep, you know?”

Diego glanced over, wordlessly nodding.

“But it was always… it always felt like I was  _ there _ . Like I was buried there somewhere, and once I rode it out, I’d just be there. Like one of those flowers that only bloom once every seven years.”

“Corpse flowers?”

“Jesus,” he hit his head against the side of the car, leaning back. “Is that what they’re called? But yeah. One of those. This was different. It wasn’t  _ deep.  _ It was  _ away.  _ Anything could have happened, and I couldn’t have done anything about it.” 

There was something weighty in the pause that followed. 

“I’m sorry that happened to you.”

“Yeah, well, c’est la vie,” he waved a hand. “I’m sorry too.”

The song on the distant radio changed. Klaus turned to watch as he added “Little brother.”

“We’re the same age. We were born on the same day.”

“You know, there you are mistaken. We  _ were  _ the same age. For our entire childhoods, in fact, but when Five tried to bibbity-bobbity us back in time, we got thrown into different years, meaning I now have,” he ticked off his fingers. “Three years on you. Ergo, little brother.”

“That doesn’t count.”

“It  _ definitely _ counts.”

“It doesn’t. That’s ridiculous.”

“You admit that Five is older than us, though? Because it’s the same.”

“It  _ isn’t. _ ” 

“Whatever you say, little brother. You and Vanya should compare notes. Find out who’s the baby of the family.”

“I’m going inside.”

* * *

_ “I don’t think any of them kept in contact after they moved out. I don’t know if I blame them for that. It was a strange way to grow up, and to be honest, I don’t know if any of us truly have. Grown-up, that is. Maybe they’re all just playing at being heroes because they never learned how to be anything else. Because no one ever taught them that they have to be people, too. And some days, when I’m sitting on the balcony of my apartment, with my music, the way I have found to express myself, I feel sorry for them.” _

_ \- Vanya Hargreeves, Extra-Ordinary: My Life as Number Seven, pg. 212.  _

* * *

There was a box of pancake mix and two eggs sitting next to a bowl on the kitchen table when Klaus finally made his way into the apartment. Elliot didn’t have any syrup, but he supposed he’d have to make do. 

  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Any and all feedback is appreciated (including constructive criticism!)
> 
> Chat with me on tumblr @itsthenovelteafactor


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